It’s a brilliant day and so so soon that summer we’ve been dying for is here. I’m planning to do all things disgustingly stereotypical for summer. Hand me all the tacky props like colourful bathing suits, plastic sandals and inflatable crocodiles.
I was texting Lovisa earlier about how this year I promise I’ll trek all the way far far far down south London to see her and drink lemonade in her garden. We’ll wear cherry coloured shades, complaining about having to shave our legs and our suede skirts sticking to your skin before spontaneously going to Brighton but not affording lunch there.
It doesn’t feel like I have an ounce patience left for work, so luckily there are tunes like British goddess Nao’s Zillionaire to keep me somewhat sane.